


100 Prompts Meme

by Akzeal



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: 100 Drabble Challenge, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, One Word Prompt Meme, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:05:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 20,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akzeal/pseuds/Akzeal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>100 Prompts, Transformers specific. These are all based around my OC Shadowsinger, so feel free to skip if you don't like the idea of OCs, I quite understand. Each is 1 page long in Open Office at 12 point font.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 3, Energon

**Author's Note:**

> Based off [LyricaBelachium](http://lyricabelachium.deviantart.com/)'s Transformers 100 prompts.

3 Energon

Energon was fascinating, Shadowsinger had to admit that. He liked to think he knew a lot about the flavors, and more than the average Autobot did. Not many of his chosen faction, after all, would ever taste processed energon. He had not only tasted his own, but that of his other lovers, in pleasure... He had quickly learned to love it.

Almost as much as pleasure-tinged fuel, the mech liked sweet blue energon. It made him feel like a loved, protected youngling, happy and wanted. He didn't have it often, but Shadowsinger enjoyed it whenever he did feel in the mood.

What he loved more than his lover's energon was something he had tasted only a couple times. Energon goodies, think and gooey and sweet, sweeter than anything else he had tasted.

It was more common here, with no lack of energon and mechs and femmes, who could brew, would brew. Shadowsinger still didn't have the goodies often. He liked to leave them as treats, because they made him feel decadent, valuable. They should have been common in his youth, but Shadowsinger didn't remember having any until his mate had given him some.

Now, though, he was rather befuddled. He stared at the box of goodies, trying to remember where they came from. He could smell, see, that they were high quality, expensive. They were something he should have gotten on his creation orn, perhaps, if he had known when it was. The box itself wasn't incredibly fancy, simply serviceable, exactly like something he would have used, which just made the small mech more confused. He would have remembered such quality goodies!

Slowly, uncertainly, Shadowsinger reached for one of the array of goodies provided. He almost wasn't sure that he dared taste one, as though he had no right, but the thought was absurd. They were in his subspace, and Shadowsinger knew he wasn't holding them for anyone, and so they must be his. There was no other option, after all.

Still, the mech was cautious as he picked up the green one he had chosen and brought it to his mouth. Biting gently, Shadowsinger gave a moan of pleasure as the rich flavor swept over his glossa, all sweet and sour, just like the color had promised. There was no question about it, it was the best goodie he had ever tasted, and he wondered again from where he had got it.

As soon as the first one was gone, the mech reached greedily for the another, a bright yellow goodie, and his mouth pucked at the sour taste. He reached again, and then stopped, hand hovering over the beautiful near ultraviolet candy. Bittersweet... Next to blue, it was his favorite flavor, and he wanted it, wanted it so badly...

Finally, the pale mech took the goodie, letting it dissolve slowly, enjoying every klick of the rich flavor as it slowly slipped away. Then he closed the box up and stood. He couldn't keep these all for himself. He had someone on the ship that he was... fond of. More than one, really...

Dividing the candies into a few boxes, Shadowsinger put most of them aside, to give to others, or to eat himself later. One, the largest selection, he took with him. Loki would like to know about these, and he had some questions to ask her anyway.


	2. 4, Spare Parts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this 'verse, sparklings are ungendered until about 'teenhood'. So, for the young ones, the correct pronoun is 'it'. In other words, I used 'it' on purpose.
> 
> Also, dismembered parts, might be gory depending on how you view it.

4\. Spare Parts

Shadowsinger was very young to be wandering about at whim, but there was no-one set to oversee it, no-one to stop it. The servants, when they saw it, would direct it away from the most dangerous places, or the most inhabited place, but other than that, the sparkling had the run of the spire.

Of course, mostly it was corralled into dusty, disused, darker corridors. One orn, giggling to itself, the sparkling toddled into a large, very dim room. All around were bits and pieces, hands and arms and legs, armor plating, vocalizers. It was a store-house, though the sparkling didn't know that, an old medical store for spare parts.

They were dusty, the parts and the room long forgotten. The other thing the sparkling didn't know was that it had gone very deep, into parts of Ratbat's tower that the Senator himself didn't know about, didn't remember. The sparkling babbled and cooed to itself, clapping its hands in delight at all the fun things around.

Like any other self-respecting sparkling, Shadowsinger's first action was to go up to a pretty shiny thing and pick it up. The optic, though fragile, was sturdy enough to withstand a sparkling's play, and soon the dust was mostly gone from the inexpert handling. Of course, then it was time for the next act from the sparkling SOP of new things. Still cooing, Shadowsinger put the shiny in its mouth. A moment later the ivory sparkling spat it out with an unhappy noise. First lesson learned, dirty old optics were not delicious yummies, no matter how shiny.

Bored with the optic, the sparkling left it on the floor and wandered over to the next thing that caught its attention. A hand, bare bronze, entertained the sparkling for a while. It grabbed a finger and made the hand curl and twist just like the real hands it had seen in its short life. Still, the hand was just a hand, and not warm and alive, and wasn't going to pet the sparkling, or anything else it had seen mech's hands do. Once again, the sparkling left the part, going on to the next.

The cerulean plating it found next reminded it of the Weird Mech, the big one with the odd voice. Shadowsinger liked his voice, but the Weird Mech didn't talk much. Still, the sparkling climbed up the shelf and pat the plating. There was some strange flaky red on one edge, but Shadowsinger didn't spend any time wondering about that, patting and giggling at the clanging its hands produced. Laying down, Shadowsinger was even more delighted to find that hitting the plate made the most lovely feelings travel through him.

Without even noticing, Shadowsinger fell into recharge. The walk down here had been very long, and the sparkling was quite worn out. It was found half a joor later, by the very same 'Weird Mech' it had been thinking about, curled up on the piece of old blue plating. The sparkling never woke as it was picked up by arms that were a different shade of blue, and held close to clear glass.

The sparkling didn't wake until it was alone in the room that nominally belonged to it. The plating was gone, both shades, and a cube of energon waited. After drinking, the sparkling resumed exploring, watching, everything just like always.

It never did find that room of spare parts again, though.


	3. 5, Fight

5 Fight

This was not going well, not at all. That went without saying, of course. Out of all the mechs who could be surrounding him, it just had to be Starscream and his trine. Any other mechs might have thought twice, might be the least worried about going against Megatron's orders. But no, not Starscream. Never Starscream...

“Spy, my aft. You don't look like one. You don't move like one. If you're a spy, then I'm a rotory!” Starscream declared, looking down on Shadowsinger.

“Let's just take him, worm the truth out of him. I mean, what can he even be learning? Look at his marks, you're just a basic soldier, aren't you, little 'Bot?” Skywarp put in, sneering down.

Shadowsinger shook his head, trying to think. He didn't want to lie, he hated lying, even for Megatron. “It- I'm not supposed to say. I don't... report to you. I'm only supposed to answer to the mech I report to!” Shadowsinger knew there was panic on his face, though he wasn't sure the Seeker knew how to read it.

Starscream huffed, kicking Shadowsinger and then standing on him, with enough weight for metal to bend and creak. “And I am second in command of the Decepticons! You're supposed to be one of our spies, then yes, you do report to me!” the Seeker shrieked.

“Hey, Starscream...” Thundercracker shifted uneasily, looking around them. “Maybe you should take it a little easy. I don't really want Megatron after us if he's telling the truth, you know how spies are. That Soundwave...”

“Hush, TC. Don't worry about Megatron. We'll get the truth, and what does it matter if he disappeared? Spywork's nothing easy, you know. Not safe.” Starscream put more weight on Shadowsinger, and the small mech screamed as more metal bent. “Come on, little 'Bot. Tell us the truth or it'll get much worse for you...”

“But I am...!” Shadowsinger screamed, prying at the larger pede pressing on him.

Thundercracker shifted again, distinctly unhappy. “This is a mistake, Starscream... Come on, let him up. He's not worth the trouble we'll be in for breaking Megatron's orders, you know that...!”

Starscream shrieked something at Thundercracker, and if there were words, Shadowsinger didn't hear them. He didn't care, because Starscream's attention was, for a moment, not on him, and the small mech had a chance to make his blades, cut into Starscream's lines, fuel-line to his thruster. Starscream had no choice but to flinch, his foot lifting, and Shadowsinger squirmed out, squirmed up.

He ran limping, but Thundercracker wasn't inclined to chase him, and Skywarp was so stunned that it gave Shadowsinger precious moments to get away, to find a crevice and slip into it, someplace small and tight where Skywarp couldn't reach him even with warping.

In time it was safe. In time, Shadowsinger slipped out, got to base. Got repaired. Then he started learning how to take out Seekers. The next time they came for him, he would give them a fight, instead of relying on infighting.


	4. 9, Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one might require a little explanation. Basically, 'blue' is German slang for 'drunk'. I don't know why, it's what my friend told me. So that's what Shadow's referencing. And yes, this does include drunk sex. Tactile/spark, enjoy.

9 Blue

He was quite blue. Quite usually blue, especially for him. Shadowsinger toyed with his energon cube, mostly empty, and spun it on its corner. It didn't stay up for long, and soon the high-grade inside spilled out. Shadowsinger giggled, heedless of the mess splashing against him.

Grabbing another cube, he giggled again and fell down, much to Rainstrip's amusement. The Seeker bent down and picked Shadowsinger up, laying him on the table. A moment later, he was licking Shadowsinger, cleaning up the clinging energon.

“I do not think I have ever seen you drunk,” Rainstrip commented between licks, working his glossa carefully into the small seams.

“Not drunk!” Shadowsinger answered, tipping more high-grade onto himself, and then drinking yet more. “'M not drunk. 'M blue. Like th' color. Is human phrase! 'Posed ta use 'uman phrases, no? S'm na' drunk.”

Rainstrip chuckled, working against the new spill. “Very well. You're blue. And sweet...” The small mech had, predictably, chosen to indulge in his favorite flavor, and now the blue energon was getting all over the ivory and purple armor, making Shadowsinger, as Rainstrip said, very sweet. With another soft laugh, the Seeker slipped his glossa into the delicate shoulder-seam, sucking against the tiny joint. So little... Sometimes Rainstrip wondered how Loki did it.

Shadowsinger arched up with a cry, and then started giggling madly once more. “I'm blue, it's blue... Wanna see s'men' else blue?” Without waiting for a reply, the small mech parted his chest, giggling and moaning, hands slipping in to touch himself as the energon tingled against his internals.

Calling a spark 'blue' was stretching it, really. It was more white, with hints of blue. Neither mech felt the need to nit-pick at this point. In other cases, a mech might worry about about merging when his partner was overcharged to this extent, but Rainstrip knew Shadowsinger better than that. He just moved down to lick at the open chest, earning more giggled moans and slurred pleas.

Only when Shadowsinger was well and truly worked up did Rainstrip relent, shedding more blueish light into the room. Shadowsinger screamed in pleasure, and then again as the Seeker moved up, covered him. And then he relaxed, optics pale and barely lit, as he smiled up at Rainstrip.

“I think... ' don' 'preciate blue enough. 's good f'... s'many things. Mm...You got pretty blue too. Got blue on blue in blue with- kinda blue...”

“You're babbling,” Rainstrip murmured, picking Shadowsinger up. “Now, I'm going to take you to your room. You might still be... blue, now, but you're going to be hung over in the morning. That will be interesting to see...” He murmured the entire trip, then lay Shadowsinger down on the small mech's berth.

Shadowsinger didn't even have to hang on for the Seeker to join him, and soon both were in recharge.


	5. 14, Betrayal

14 Betrayal

“My creation has gotten rather... out of hand lately, wouldn't you say?” Ratbat said one evening, sitting in his private office with Soundwave in his usual place behind him at the console. It wasn't really a question, but the telepath knew he was still expected to answer.

“Unsure. Define analysis,” was the answer he gave, taking a perverse amusement in annoying the master he no longer truly served.

“Out of hand! Unmanageable!” Ratbat clarified, gesturing angrily. “Slipping away, deliberately choosing to do things he knows I won't approve of when he _ought_ to be desperate to gain my attention and please me! Out of hand!”

Well, of course the youngling was 'out of hand', Soundwave thought to himself. He barely even saw Ratbat, certainly didn't see him as a Creator-figure, and had no inkling that it was even theoretically possible for him to gain Ratbat's _favor_. The Senator should have made himself more of a presence in the youngling's life, or better yet, made Soundwave _less_ of one. It was all far too late now, though. The Senator's creation was quite thoroughly ruined for whatever Ratbat would have asked. Ratbat didn't need another loyal servant anyway.

“Soundwave...” Ratbat said, a near growl. “I want _ideas_. I want my creation back under my control... Otherwise he is no use to me.”

He wanted ideas? Fine then. “Youngling; Unaware approval can be earned,” Soundwave said. “Effort never enough. Perceives goal unreachable.” Because, of course, it was. The Senator would never truly approve of the sparkling the AllSpark had given him, would never see past his own lack of control over that moment.

“What? Are you suggesting I... go tell him he's doing well when all he's been doing has been ignoring my dictates?” Ratbat snorted. “No, no. _First_ he does something that I want him to. _Then_ , if he's done it well enough, I will go tell him it was adequate. And if he _won't_ do something I ask, well...” He had already given that option.

Soundwave resisted the urge to give his own huff. The Senator was being as stubborn as always, and foolish. He was threatening his own creation, too, and even though he wasn't here, the betrayal couldn't be overlooked. It wouldn't be right to let the youngling be offlined for actually being himself, especially after the work Soundwave had done to encourage that individually.

“Suggestion. Show him what you keep him from? The arena is very dangerous.” Maybe the youngling would ever like what he saw there, _who_ he saw. Show him Megatron, and perhaps he would fall under the gladiator's spell and follow easier when the inevitable war came. It was worth a try, and if nothing else, it might scare the youngling into compliance long enough to please Ratbat.

“Hum... Show him where he could so easily end up, if I stopped giving him his room and fuel? Teach him just _why_ I should be pleased? Yes... I like that, Soundwave. Make it happen. It really would be a pity to waste all the energy kept keeping him alive...”


	6. 18, Suspicion

18 Suspicion

Sometimes, when he was alone, and it was late at night, Crosswise would think about the mechs under his command. There was nothing particularly special about any of them, really. Sometimes he wondered if there were any spies in his command. It was hard to be too careful in this war, though he couldn't see why a spy would spend any times here. In a morbid way, it was fun to consider, though more than a little paranoid and at times headache inducing.

Fallout was possible, Crosswise knew. He was a good Autobot, hard working, intelligent, kind-sparked, and a good fighter when he needed to be. Fallout was such a perfect Autobot that it almost seemed obvious he was a spy. If he was, though, the grey mech wanted to stay where he was, which didn't make sense, and Crosswise had shared a few drinks with the mech. Fallout got talkative with a few cubes in him, and that made in unlikely that he was really anything other than what he appeared.

Swerve was... well, he was reckless. He charged into battle and quite honestly seemed too gleeful when fighting Decepticons for Crosswise to believe that the red and white truck served them. Then again, it could always be a cover. Anything could be a cover, really, and this was why Crosswise wasn't in counter intelligence. He didn't have the head for that kind of thing. Still, he didn't think that Swerve was a spy. He was never interested in anything beyond battle and high-grade.

Shadowsinger... oh, that was a fun one, and Crosswise grinned when he thought about the ivory and purple mech. On the outside, there was a rather strong case for him to be a spy. He disappeared after every battle, was outspoken about what he perceived as flaws in the Autobots... But then, he did have at least some points, he was young enough to think he knew more of the world than he did... And the one time Crosswise had actually had him followed, out of morbid curiosity, he had just gone to an overlook and sat for a while, singing some operatic song in a rather flat key. While code was possible, it just seemed too weird.

Corkscrew, now that was a mech that Crosswise wouldn't be surprised was spying. Not that there was any proof that the green and black mech was spying, but he was violent, aloof... Then again, he could simply be a Towers mech. They weren't generally violent, but they had lost a lot, and it would fit the angry mech. Crosswise still wouldn't be surprised to learn that that Corkscrew was a spy. Mech still did his job, and that was what mattered to Crosswise most of the time.

Stuntrunner was... well, he was his own thing. Crosswise was very sure that the black and tan mech was not a spy, but not because he was convinced of his loyalty. Stuntrunner was entirely too blunt, too obvious, too incapable of subtly. He lived for thrills, and it wouldn't surprise anyone if he joined the Decepticons for the danger, but for him to actually spy? There was no-one more incapable of it! Which, again, might just be the perfect cover.

And then, of course, there was himself. Crosswise knew he was positioned well to be a spy. He didn't know everything, but he knew enough to make life easier on the Decepticons, if he had wanted to. He had five mechs under him, most of whom could easily be set up to take the fall. And Steelspark's leadership did little to engender loyalty, if Crosswise were honest. Yes, he really was well placed to be a spy. It was a good thing Steelspark wasn't the suspicious type.


	7. 19, Family

19, Family

It was not the family he had been sparked into. That one had tried to kill him, and had deceived to keep him safe. They had treated him with disdain and occasional indulgence. There were rules he had to follow without even knowing about them, and there were grand liberties allowed him. There were places he must never go in, and places that he should never have been free in which to play.

Needless to say, it had left him dreadfully confused and unsure about his place in the world, nervous, and not always sensible in the normal meaning of the word.

It was also not the family of which he had unexpected found himself a part. That one had been tiny, not the most functional, and yet it had endured for eight eons before it had begun to crack. It was secret, forbidden to even mention, and welcomed him whenever possible. He was indulged often, allowed liberties that were usually appropriate, and given rules which were explained and reasoned out with him, though not always before-hand.

Understandably, it had given him confidence, and even at times arrogance. He had power, and there had been more he could have taken if he had only chosen.

It wasn't even the pseudo-family he had been thrust into. That one had been large, with the full range of attachments. It had loved him and been indifferent to him and had used him, and he had truly found his place there. He had made the rules, some of them, to keep it together and safe, and it had comforted him for the hurts from the other two families.

Unsurprisingly, he had emerged from that cheerful, strong, and possibly more unusual than before, though not always in ways which would immediately show.

No, this was the family that he had chosen. No mates, but lovers, and creations, even siblings and creators. It teased him and accepted him and was willing to kill for him. It respected him, and only asked that he give back the same.

He really should have listened to Loki when she warned him that Sorral would see him as a brother, when he first claimed her as his sister. What Loki had been trying to say was that, in claiming her, he was claiming all of them. From her crazy carrier who was more than five times his size, to the crazy sister who was nearly exactly his hight, and even to the tiny creations who came later and were less than half that. Even the creations he had no hand in... Sometimes, it seemed like he and Loki were a type of mate that just hadn't bonded.

It was the family he had wanted since before he had the words, before he had realized the problems with the one he was in.

Still, that didn't mean that they weren't very noisy, running around and bathing and shrieking with laughter and generally making it impossible to get recharge. After the high-grade binge his last client had taken him out on, Shadowsinger just wanted to rest and stop his head from splitting. As much as he had wanted this family, that didn't mean that, every now and then, when he was tired and they were noisy or bothering him, he didn't wish that they would disappear, just for a little while.


	8. 20, Creation

20 Creation

It had been... not an accident. Not an accident. No merge-sparked sparkling could honestly be called an accident. It had been unexpected, perhaps. Unplanned. Shadowsinger still remembered that orn. He remembered the whole groon with a painful clarity, actually, but that orn stood out. That orn, and the couple following it, had been good, brought something wonderful.

Shadowsinger had come home barely responsive. His bond-mate had just died, and if Loki hadn't been there to help him through the pain of snapped bond, the small mech would likely had offlined from simple starvation. He had been catatonic for an orn or two, only waking for the fuel his sister offered from her own lines, and had only recovered to actual responding an orn before they reached the ship. The last thing he had expected was for the crew to be in mourning as well.

It was Momentum he had first met. Momentum who told him they were doomed. Momentum who told him, unknowingly, how his mate had died. There had been a battle, on some organic planet. They had found the AllSpark. Somehow, in the battle, one of the natives had taken the AllSpark, and shoved it into Megatron's spark. Shadowsinger had known one result from that. Now he learned that the AllSpark was destroyed as surely as his mate, and Momentum was in complete despair.

Shadowsinger had just looked at him for a while, struggling to put together the reason for Momentum's depression. The red mech hadn't lost a mate, after all. It took the normally astute mech much longer than it should have to realize that Momentum thought their race was doomed. It took another long moment for Shadowsinger to remember when he would have thought the same.

“Don't worry,” he had said, voice flat and broken. “Sparklings can still be made. Dinobots been doin' it eons.”

Momentum had looked at him, a klick away from the so familiar breaking that the red much had become known for. Shadowsinger had explained what he had learned from his sister, from Glitch, from Zeximus. A merge, desire, no doubt. A medic who knew what to look for, and a body for the newspark to go into. It wasn't that hard to create a sparkling, not really, but without knowing it was possible, the newspark could develop, be carried too long, and be re-absorbed with the the carrier none the wiser.

It had been a shock when Momentum fell on him, hands roaming over him, pressing into seams, glossa working over him. Pleasure had slammed into Shadowsinger, and the small mech had buckled and gave in without a fight. The merge wasn't a surprise, and Shadowsinger's own desire to leave something of himself in this world had combined with Momentum's desperate desire to prove this wasn't the end of their race.

Momentum carried. Inevitable, really, the red mech had wanted a sparkling far more than Shadowsinger had. Wishmaster had confirmed it barely a joor after they merged, and began working on a body. The sparkling would be larger than Shadowsinger, because those were the parts that Wishmaster had available. They would give it an alt form, because they were still at war, even though alternate forms were a little hard on sparklings. Wishmaster assured them their creation would be fine. It would be a small form, two wheeled like its co-creator, and, at Momentum's insistence, would be official orange.

The only thing left, really, was for Momentum and Shadowsinger to figure out a name for the first creation in sixteen eons.


	9. 21, Hug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note, despite the tone of the last few ficlets, Shadow's really -not- an angsty character. At the least, I do my best to make sure he isn't. He just... thinks a lot.

21 Hug

Hugs were simple, hugs were common. Hugs were one of the most basic expressions of affection that there was. Hugs were never supposed to be rare, and the first was not supposed to be remembered, or even memorable.

He'd had many hugs since then, of course. From lovers, temporary or not, soft ones, hard ones, short, long. He'd been held, carried, stroked, hugged by those his size, smaller, and bigger. And he had given his share of hugs too, wrapping mechs in his arms, or humans, or flinging his arms against a femme in a vain attempt to encircle her.

He'd been hugged by those who hated him, even, hugged in forgiveness and pain and joy and love, and sometimes simply because it was expected. He loved hugs, sought them out, tried to extend them as much as possible.

Hugs, despite everything, meant safety for him, meant he could let his emotions out, or at least let them show. Hugs had gotten him a sister, and a family to go with her, a fact he was still adjusting to. Hugs had surrounded his deepest confidences, his most horrid confessions.

More than interfacing and overloads, more than even kisses, a hug meant he was wanted. Wanted fully and deeply for at least as long as he was willing or able to stay, or as long as they were able. That had been the message of the first hug, and the second, and so many after that. His mate and his sister and his dear sweet friends, one-night-stands, mechs he would never consider interfacing, they still hugged. Even Starscream, with a form of hatred still there, had wanted him, and in that moment, it had been safe for him in the Seeker's arms.

The fun thing was hugging those bigger than him. They could use just one hand, and he knew what they meant, and he could wrap himself against their leg, and they smiled.

Or his little bitlets, smaller than him, even smaller than the humans he had known. Those were lovely hugs, all light and joy and happiness, and he felt so good, knowing that he wasn't denying his creations like he had been denied. They thought hugs were common, thought nothing of giving one, nothing of receiving one. They would even whine, complain about hugs in public, though they never tried to stop them. Shadowsinger loved it all.

Still, it was sad to think about how old he had been before discovering this wonderful gesture of basic affection. He'd been nearly adult the first time he'd felt wanted, almost old enough to live on his own, though he'd had no thoughts of doing so, no recognition that he even could. He had rested in other's arms before that, but it wasn't a hug. It had been simple transport.

He had never told the twins how much they had really done for him. They barely knew him, though they knew him better now than they had then. They still barely knew him, and he wasn't going to burden them with telling them they had been his first in more than one way.

And he was never going to stop hugging.


	10. 22, Punch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for unintentional drug use.

22 Punch

He had not realize, Shadowsinger thought in a moment of clarity, that ultraviolet and infrared would manage to look like that. He had also not realized that the punch was more like what one might have found on Earth. Someone, or a great many someones, had pour whatever energons were at hand, or claw, into a bowl. High-grades and low-grades, mid-grades, and the pale mech was certain that there was a fair bit of processed energon in the bowls as well.

There had also been crystals, in some, though Shadowsinger had remained well away from those bowls. He was sure that he could ingest them; it wouldn't be the oddest thing he had ingested in his life, but it wasn't something he really wanted to try. They had been pretty, though, glowing from the energon, or melting into each other, solidifying the whole bowl, or floating where they could be picked out by a clever talon... He had watched for a while, before getting his own cube of punch, just because he enjoyed watching the mechs and femmes take what they wanted.

Something had still been in his, he thought. Something that made colors bright, and floaty, and something which made sound physical, tactile, and very tender. He squirmed and moaned a little, the sound of laughter and music caressing him... and then someone spoke and he saw their words, in all their bright and shifting colors. Shadowsinger cried out, reaching for the sharp edges and the melting curves that the words formed, with no idea at all what they meant.

Someone laughed, probably at him, and then Shadowsinger was moving, was being moved, gently picked up and cradled, and he laughed again, aching under the gentle hands. He thought he knew the voice, spilling its words in beautiful staccato colors, in brilliant shapes that circled and danced around him. He grasped at them, not to gather them to himself but just to touch them, to feel them in all their variance.

There was another laugh, and the words came obligingly closer, almost close enough to caress him, like the music and the foot-steps already did. He moaned again, and curled up, cupping his arms to cradle the razor gleams, the crystalline syllables and soft organic-fur sentences. They came closer, and he shiver as they crawled inside him, as he would sometimes, often, occupy his sister. It stopped his laughter and he moaned, freely, wrapping his arms tight about himself.

The words still came, darker and thick, no longer flirting about him but clinging, wrapping him deep in their hold, clinging like half-melted sweets. And then heat came, fire and soft, pulsing and burning in a way he knew, and couldn't remember. Air moved over him as well, cooling him and feeding the fire, and his mewl were golden and lovely. A final word, skittering right up through him and turning the heat into an inferno, exploding his spark in ecstasy.

Snare laughed again, holding her creation to her chest as he squirmed and flailed and finally shuddered though overload and then went still. He was just in recharge, and she knew that, smiling fondly and petting his back. Apparently someone had found the good fossils this time. She might almost feel bad for the small mech she held, except that it had been so funny, finding him so far gone from her own words. He was such a high-priced, practiced berth-bot, and yet so easy to tip over the edge...

She was going to have to find out who had made that punch. If there was anything left over, she needed to take some home. Shadowsinger was far too entertaining while high to avoid a second round... or even a third.


	11. 26, Surprise

26 Surprise

Nine-hundred yards, exactly, from the center of the battle, as well as Shadowsinger could work it out. For ten eons, his estimations had been accurate enough, and he had always found the promised information. It had been two joors, forty breems since the end of the last battle, and it had been a bad one. There had been a lot of carnage, but he had come through without much damage, and slipped away from his base with time to spare.

Nine-hundred yards north had, thankfully, taken the small mech away from the thick of the battle, and the grayed bodies laying thick on the ground. He barely noticed the ones he was picking his way through now, used to the after-battle gore and knowing there was nothing he could do about it. It was getting very bad, so much worse than the first battles had been, and Shadowsinger got frightened when he thought about it, got worried. He wasn't worried now, though. Now was a happy time, even if he was walking through the bodies of the dead. He was going to go see his mate.

He was going to see his mate, if he ever found the instruction pad. Shadowsinger already knew there was no-one waiting to meet him, from the simple fact that their was no-one standing in this area. That was one good thing about Decepticons, they were mostly tall enough to see from a distance like that. With no-one to meet him, Shadowsinger was looking at the ground and gray armor, looking for a blinking data-pad.

It was two joors, forty-four breems now, and he still hadn't found the pad. Shadowsinger wasn't too worried, he was early, and he had been late before. They didn't dare get caught, and so the pad was usually hidden pretty well. Shadowsinger liked to think he had learned most of the clues by now, little marks that pointed to where the pads were. Sometimes those marks had lead him a breem or more away from his initial point before he found the pad... He just wasn't finding those marks yet, either. Maybe he was too early, maybe it hadn't been delivered yet, though Shadowsinger was sure he had been earlier before and found everything.

Shadowsinger didn't start to worry until it was three joors, ten breems after the end of the battle. He was late, and only going to get more late, and his mate was getting more and more demanding. He couldn't afford to be late, but he couldn't help it either. Shadowsinger was getting more and more frantic, searching desperately. Breem after breem passed, and finally, four full joors after the battle had ended, Shadowsinger had to give up his search. His instruction pad simply wasn't there.

He made his way back slowly to the base, spark already aching for its mate and chassis a fair bit warmer than it ought to be. He wanted to just go to his room, self-overload to work off some need, maybe grab some high-grade and hide in his room with it. His plans got disrupted by the somber mood on the base. While Shadowsinger had been out searching, news had been spreading, and now he heard that the AllSpark had been launched into space to keep it from the Decepticons. He heard that Megatron, in a rage, had flown off, following the Cube into deep-space, leaving a mech called Bumblebee barely alive.

Shocked and numb, Shadowsinger went to his room in a daze, opened his chest and stared blankly at the mark on his spark-chamber. He couldn't tell what it was in the poor reflective surface of the wall, but he didn't have to. It was, quite abruptly, the only thing he now had to remind him of his mate. He understood the need to chase the AllSpark, but... why hadn't Megatron messaged, why let him find out by impersonal surprise?


	12. 27, Rage

27, Rage

Shadowsinger could never remember being so furious. He looked up, and up and up, at the grey and sickly-yellow Seeker, not entirely sure if he had actually heard her right. In fact, he just had to clarify.

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“You're not a spy!” she repeated. “Starscream told me as much! You're just hoping I'll be too scared to drag you back or dispose of you myself. Well, little liar, guess what-” The femme didn't get a chance to finish.

Shadowsinger screamed. He didn't lie! -Except that he had, of course. And he hated it. Lying made him angry, and being called on it made him angry. He wasn't angry because it was wrong, not anymore... it was just a matter of habit now, the memory of punishments anytime he had lied, even harmlessly, when he was a youngling.

This time, looking up at the femme's sneer, Shadowsinger felt something snap. He had been happy and content not a breem before, and this Seeker had shown up, had made him lie, and had caught him on it.

The small mech barely even noticed that he was transforming, his katars coming out as he launched himself at the femme. She didn't even realize he was coming until he was hanging off her vents, cutting at her and growling. There was none of his usual care, no attempt to find the seams, to keep to them and cut the vital lines. Shadowsinger was simply hacking, slicing, trying to cause as much damage as possible.

The femme reacted, predictably, shrieking at him and reaching to pluck him off by his wheels. Shadowsinger didn't feel the pain, cutting the hand and getting back to her canopy. He only stayed there for a moment, and then slipped behind her. The femme screamed, reaching for him again, but the mech had found the Seeker's handicap. Seekers could not reach their own backs. Normally it was not a problem, but this femme was alone, helpless as Shadowsinger cut into her back.

“Yes, I'm lying...! And what more can I do? I lie to stay alive, I lie to stay with him- Why did you show up? This area was cleared! You can't be here! You can't! Go away- Go away, go away, go _away_!”

His last order was punctuated by a thrust, which went right through the femme's weakened back-armor. The katar was too short to come out the other end, but it was long enough to pierce the Seeker's spark chamber. Shadowsinger felt it, felt the tingle as the spark destabilized. She fell forward, taking the mech with her, and for a long moment, he tried to work out why he was laying down now.

Then he realized the femme was grey. Grey-grey, with no hint of the yellow which had been there. Blue optics looked at his arm blankly, and Shadowsinger tried to remember why he had energon all over him. Why his arm was in the femme's back... He pulled it out, looking at the hole he had left behind.

He had killed her.

It wasn't the first time he had killed. But he had remembered it, planned it...

This was the first time he had killed in the grip of rage, and he couldn't even remember doing it.


	13. 31, Flight

31, Flight

He'd never considered flight all that much. Even after his so-called flying lessons from the triple-changer,which had continued as long as they were both on-planet, and had resulted in an actual understanding of how to use flight systems, on another mech or a machine, he still hadn't _thought_ about it much. Some people flew, some didn't, and that was all.

Hi sister could fly, and a creator, and several creations. His one-time mate flew, and almost-mate, and his worse enemy... But those were only facts. They didn't matter, not really. It made some of his creations hard to catch at times, but that was all, and when that happened, he could ask someone else to catch them.

Shadowsinger's primary thoughts about flight, when he had them at all, was that flight surfaces and systems were _great_ things with which to play. They made fliers moan and twist in fascinating ways... They were a lot of fun. He _did_ love to play with flight systems, on any flier at all, and comparing them was so much fun...

If he had cared, Sorral could have shown him. She would have been glad to, always enjoying hacking him, it seemed. Considering what usually come of it, he couldn't blame her. Still, Shadowsinger never asked his sister to let him experience flight as she knew it. He had tasted it from Starscream's spark, and that was quite enough for Shadowsinger.

He did love to go out and watch Cloudcatcher. She would fly with her brothers, or her carrier, but what she really loved to do was take Parsley and Thyme up. She had inherited her carrier's preference for a ground-based trine. She had even modded little holes into her wings so her tiny brothers-slash-trine-mates had something to hang on to.

Parsley and Thyme loved it too. Shadowsinger almost worried about them, watching the spark he had carried risk it's life in the sky. He sometimes wondered where the siblings had got their love of flying, since he was a grounder and Loki was a swimmer. It didn't really matter, though. They loved it, Cloudcatcher loved going up with them, and that was what mattered, really.

His life had been shaped by flight more that he had expected- not that he had ever expected much. He hadn't considered how much control he had over his life until very recently. Once he 'd realized it, he'd spent much too long thinking about it. Once he'd started that, Shadowsinger kept making the strangest realizations, and he really wasn't sure how to stop, or if he wanted to, or if he _ought_ to. They didn't really change anything, though, not usually, and so he didn't worry about it too much.

So, now his thoughts had lead him to think about flight, which he rarely did. And from that, he realized how many of the people he knew, or had known, or cared about, flew. And like every other realization, it really didn't matter, it really didn't impact anything. It was just... something he understood now, when he hadn't before.

Maybe some orn he'd do something more about flying. Maybe he'd ask Sorral, or merge Rainstrip with the goal of 'experiencing' the flight. Maybe he'd even go up with Cloudcatcher... Or maybe not. It didn't really matter.


	14. 37, Wash-rack

37 Wash Rack

It really was quite beautiful down here. Water was everywhere, mildly uncomfortable since he wasn't made for it, but no more dangerous than the pool that Shadowsinger had used on the Nerdene Hyrde. It was certainly safer than Earth's salt-heavy ocean. It seemed green down here, though the water was as clear as anywhere else. There were so many plants, though, in the mud under him, floating on the surface above, trees growing through the earth and mud and water alike to soar to the sky, and the algae on those trees. So many plants, so very green.

And then there was the life. Small organics, darting about, fish and crustaceans, both organic and mechanical. He could see one, swimming some distance away, shimmering silver in the diffused sunlight, but Shadowsinger couldn't tell if it was a Dinobot or a fish. A moment later it twisted, unfolding into a bipedal form, and he knew it was a mech, a regular client of his, whom he had never seen in dino mode.

Beside Shadowsinger, guiding him through this lovely aquatic world, was his beautiful creation. As humans would say, his 'niece', his sister's creation, but he had been told often that they were all his creations as much as theirs, and he did his best to honor that. Her name was Cyrus, and she really was gorgeous. Her form was close to an earth Plesiosaurus, all teal and blue and black. It was hard to see her down here sometimes, and it almost seemed that he was surrounded by the lagoon itself.

Cyrus was always there, though, thrilled to show her smallest creator this place. The femme was careful not to lose him, which was easy enough, since he was pale and shown like one of the fish. Her carrier had taught him how to swim, a feat that hadn't been accomplished with her Seeker co-creator. Her other femme creator could swim, but Cyrus kind of preferred showing Shadowsinger this planet. She knew that he had never seen it, like she hadn't, and so she would discover and then show off the lovely places she found.

They had stopped swimming when they got tired, and now they were nested down deep under the surface, nestled into the mud and plants and fish waste. Shadowsinger didn't really want to think about what he was in, because if he thought about it, he would get disgusted and swim away, and that would make Cyrus sad. She loved to curl into the mud around her creator, snake her neck around him, and recharge below the water. Shadowsinger loved to spend time with her, close together, and watch the light on the waves, the clouds between the floating plants.

While they sat there, mud oozed into joints, and finally Shadowsinger got a ping from Loki, telling them it was time to come up and get some fuel. After that it was time to spend some time with their family, bitlets and winglets and mechs and femmes and the lovely chaos that a family ought to be. Shadowsinger had always known he was missing it, but he hadn't realized how much, what a difference it made.

There was, however, one hurdle the creator and creation pair had to face before they could get their fuel and all the rest. The hurdle appeared in the form of a sleek teal and black Seeker. Rainstrip didn't have to do more than raise one brow at the pair, and Shadowsinger huffed.

“We know, we know... we're not getting in until we wash this mud out and off... C'mon, Cy, let's make your creator happy...” Smiling, he lead her around the outside of the house and into the wash-racks, installed to be accessible without going inside for just this purpose. With two aquatic femmes, they all used and needed these wash-racks.


	15. 39, Traveling

39, Traveling

It was the first time he had ever been out of his home city. There were mechs all around him, but Shadowsinger wasn't talking to them. He was more interested in looking around, at the wild landscape so different from anything he had seen before. The ground underpede was brown, almost a rust color, and in the distance it turned to blue, steel, as another plate intersected the one they were on. On the other side there was a cliff, rust and gold, with black holes piercing it. The young mech wondered what they were, what was in them, but it was much too far to walk just for his curiosity.

The group of mechs skirted a collection of crystals, mostly clear with pale streaks of color, but some bright green or orange or optic-searing yellow or deep clear blue. Something chimed in the thicket, and Shadowsinger was sure he saw the quivering nose of a petro-rabbit. He would love to go in and look, but the crystals were too close, grew too sharp. He knew he would get sliced to pieces by the delicate looking growths if he tried to get closer to the small creature. The petro-rabbit could afford to stare in curiosity, because it was totally safe in its retreat.

They would reach Tarn soon, or at least that's what Shadowsinger heard, but he saw little proof of the claim. The city was visible in the distance, between the blue plate and the mountains, though he knew it was built on a silver-steel plate from the pictures he had seen. It got no closer, even with joor after joor of walking. It just sat on the horizon, tall and glittering and giving them something to walk towards. Shadowsinger wasn't afraid of getting lost, even if he did get separated from the group, because all he would have to do was walk forward.

The crystal thicket was far behind them now, and the mountains were fading to a shimmer as their path veered more towards the slowly-lightening steel plate. Looking around, Shadowsinger smiled suddenly, even though he was tired, sore from walking all orn. There was a cyber-wolf, standing on the blue ridge some distance from them, looking down on the group of mechs with inscrutable purple optics. He was proud, with clean lines and clear grey armor. He looked, Shadowsinger thought, like what so many Towers mechs were trying to achieve. This proud creature achieved the look effortlessly, with every right. Shadowsinger sacrificed a moment of time and some precious energy to get a clear image of the cyber-wolf and store it away where he was sure it would never fade.

Tarn was finally starting to move closer, and it seemed another joor might be enough to reach the city. Less if the drove, but no-one drove. Not everyone could drive, and the others preferred the quite of walking to the speed of driving. Still, the city came closer, and the breems passed, until the joor was done and they were close enough to the walls of Tarn to hear its life. The blue on the plate had passed into silver as they walked, and now the city stood dark and bold on the light ground. They found a gate, and one by one the mechs were allowed into the city-state of Tarn.

Shadowsinger split from the disintegrating group now, its purpose past. He needed to find a place to stay, for this night and maybe one after, and he needed to find transport. He didn't want to walk to the next city, or the city after that. He refused to walk all the way to Iacon, but was unwilling to drive on his own. Tarn was not quite what he expected, not as different as he had hoped, and the young mech knew he had more travel in his future. Tarn was just too close to Kaon, in distance and temperament. 

He hoped Iacon was better. He hoped to make Iacon his new home, because he could certainly not return to Kaon. It was impossible to return home when it was in ruins, after all, and so he would have to keep traveling.


	16. 45, Stupidity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was FUN to write.

45, Stupidity

Shadowsinger stared at the blue and white and red mech sitting in the brig. Technically, Shadowsinger could see from the red on his chest, the mech was an Autobot, like him, but he didn't move like an Autobot, and he didn't really look like one. He had a gun on his head, after all, and integrated weaponry was not a normal Autobot modification. Shadowsinger knew that well.

“Sa', 'f I ask who y'are, will I get an' answer?” Shadowsinger asked conversationally. He was alone in the brig, but not worried. Mostly he was confused as to where this mech had come from. Glitch had found him wandering around in the lower levels looking rather lost and stunned, and he had come peacefully when she requested he come with her to the brig.

“You might,” the blue mech answered, looking down at the shorter mech. “Now I got a question. Who's in charge of security around here?”

Shadowsinger huffed at the non-answer. It was his own fault, he knew, but still! “I am. Why do you ask, and what's your name?”

“You are? Huh.” The mech narrowed his optics, regarding Shadowsinger with an indecipherable look on his face. “You can call me Devcon. Where did you learn security?”

“Does that have anything to do with where you came from?” Shadowsinger asked in return. He ignored the question about his training, because he didn't feel like admitting that he had never been trained, that he only knew what he had found. Devcon's presence showed that he didn't know enough, and Shadowsinger didn't feel like listening to the other mech's verbal jabs more than he had to.

“Well it might. Came here to see if I could get some of those wings. You know, that that dino takes. Can do a lot with those. Make art, annoy Seekers...” Looking at Shadowsinger again, Devcon decided to add the last part after all, “Sell them back for profit.”

Shadowsinger nodded, aware of the wings, and aware of their value to Seekers. “Not a bother t' me. C'n ask Sis' if she'll give ya some if we let ya leave, if you want.”

Devcon snorted, reclining against the wall calmly. “Wouldn't be as much fun. So, you want to know how I got here?” He paused again, laughing a little. “Been here before. Knew this time there was a new CSO...” The blue mech nodded at Shadowsinger. “So I waited. Monitored, watched... You've been orbiting this planet for a few decacycles. More than enough time. Looked tighter than the old SO kept it, the vents were closed up tight. So I looked to go in the engines, hate doing that but hey, why not. And slag me if it wasn't closed off too.”

He looked at Shadowsinger, but there was no interruption coming, only interest, so Devcon continued. “This whole time, the shuttlebay and airlock looked wide open. Too open, I was sure it was a trap. So I looked between the floors. And you were all closed up, everywhere...” Shadowsinger looked chagrined already, and Devcon laughed happily. “Yup, you know what happened, don't you? I thought I'd seen it all. You guarded the whole ship, all over, everywhere... And left the main doors wide open! Never thought I'd see such a flagrant act of stupidity, and from a ship's Security Officer nonetheless!”

Shadowsinger could only stand there, gaze on the floor and wishing he could disappear, while Devcon continued to laugh at him.


	17. 46, Light

46, Light

Shadowsinger had long known he didn't like the light. It was too piercing, too revealing. He could hide in the light, of course, and some light was always needed just to be able to see, at least for him. But he didn't like too much, he never had. It wasn't, quite, painful, but he didn't like it.

Of course, normally he wasn't stuck in a cave without even the faintest glimmer of light. It couldn't be darker to him if his optics had been removed... Shadowsinger knew that for a fact, having lost them once or twice in combat. Well, more like had them offlined, not removed, but close enough.

Luckily for the small mech, he was not a seeker, or he would likely be quite mad already. He had been in this cave for a few orns, rocks crushing one leg, ceiling so low he could barely sit up and more rocks brushing against his wheels with ever movement.

At least he knew his crew was coming for him. They always would. He wouldn't be left behind... not with the Hyrde. If he had still been on Steelspark's base... but he wasn't. As wrong as it felt, Shadowsinger thanked Primus for that. Havok alone would never have convinced the commander to look for him. He would have looked himself, but there would be only so much time for that...

Either way, it was the Nerdene Hyrde that was looking for him, and that was the important thing right now.

That and how dark it was. Primus, it was unbearable. As much as Shadowsinger knew there wasn't anything to see in this cave... He already knew he wasn't bleeding out, the energon form his wound was all dried by now. If he was bleeding out, there would at least be light, Shadowsinger thought with a pang of longing, until he realized what he was thinking.

No, he didn't really want light that much. Enough to give up an optic, maybe, but that would be kind of counterproductive. Maybe a limb. Wishmaster would be unhappy, and Nightshade would be unbearable for a few orns, but he'd have light. That would be worth it, wouldn't it? And he could have it rebuilt later, of course...

After what seemed a few more joors of oppressive darkness, Shadowsinger had a bit of a revelation. There were other ways for him to have light than to sacrifice a limb, or any more of his energon than he had already lost. It was fairly insane, of course, but what was going to hurt him down here? He would hear anyone coming before rocks started to fall and endanger him.

And he didn't care! He wanted light! That was what mattered...

Shivering a little, the pale mech reached for the clasps on his chest. He had never tried doing this when he was neither aroused nor before a medic.

His chest didn't care about that. The mechanisms reacted as built, opening smoothly and parting his chest. Sparklight spilt over the rocks, his damaged leg and dried energon, and Shadowsinger's vents heaved, he shook with the primal satisfaction of light, of vision. Everything was softly blue, and to Shadowsinger it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Primus, he thought, be praised for the light, and for the thought of conquering the darkness with sparklight!


	18. 48, Imprisonment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron is slowly going crazy in our 'verse, and this shows a part of it.

He had often considered chaining his mate up someplace, and not letting him go. It would be easier on them, certainly, chaining the little mech up in his quarters, which would then be their quarters, or at the foot of his thrown. Even just decorative chains, ones that didn't really impede or restrain the small mech...

It wasn't like Shadowsinger would object, after all.

Not really object, at least, just a little pro forma struggle, a little complaining, a reminder that he was, technically, an Autobot, that he had chosen his side... They wouldn't be real objections, he wouldn't fight as the red was removed, as his choice was undone. He would like the results, he would do very well here, Megatron was sure, and no-one would touch him. For fear of Megatron's wrath... soon enough, for fear of the little mech's own wrath, as soon as he realised he could, that he should, fight, keep himself untouched.

He would like being so close to his mate. He would like not hiding it...

Shadowsinger would be safe, too. Even safer than he was now, kept in Megatron's rooms, or by the warlord's side... They could afford to have a deeper bond, perhaps, though Megatron wasn't sure he wanted that.

Every time he considered this path, though, one thing remained, something that the tyrant could not avoid, could not justify.

It was the part about Shadowsinger's choice.

The little mech had, for whatever reason, chosen to become an Autobot. He had chosen to remain one, even after bonding the Decepticon Leader, to remain one after submitting as throughly as possible to Megatron. It was his choice and, as near as Megatron could work out, was practically the only choice the pale mech had ever made, in his entire life.

Megatron could not find it within him to undo that choice.

It was everything he was fighting against, everything that caused the rebellion, after all, the Council's removal of mechs' choices, poverty and hunger leaving none. Megatron fought, the Decepticons fought, for choice, for their choices, although it was hard to see sometimes, or maybe hard to see often. Megatron wasn't quite sure, things didn't always make as much sense as they had in the bright past, when everything was so clear.

Perhaps someday, some orn in the future, he could find a way to undo his mate's choice, assuming that Shadowsinger didn't change it, didn't come on his own. Perhaps someday he would see his mate in chains on his berth, never to leave, unless Megatron lead him at his side. Perhaps someday Shadowsinger would come to be little more than his berth-toy.

Perhaps Shadowsinger would even learn to enjoy such imprisonment.


	19. 51, Entertainment

Human television shows and 'soap operas' were... not childish. They were 'low', perhaps, but the same was said of the files Shadowsinger so loved to read. They were full of drama and romance and the mech had quite the taste for them. Soap operas first, so similar to the romance stories of his youth. Then he discovered reality shows, and was quickly absorbed, until he learned how scripted they really were. Spontaneity had been their draw, and with that gone, he moved on to other shows.

It was almost embarrassing, how long it took him to leave the English language as he looked for new amusements. He could learn any human language in less than a joor, and knew that many other cultures had their own media, as nuanced as anything he had already seen. And yet, like many others, he limited himself for little reason, and barely even noticed. Once he realized what he was doing, he learned the languages, and then he discovered Spanish telenovelas, and Korean dramas, and the flash and glam of India's 'Bollywood'.

The stories were the same in any language, even in his own, when you got down to the bottom of them. Forbidden love, class distinctions, unexpected separations... even the addition of gender roles didn't change the formula very much. It was just another prejudice, another layer to play with, nothing unfamiliar to the mech apart from the particular organic distinction being made. Even then, in the Towers, slender and small meant 'helpless and protected' almost as often as 'woman' meant it on Earth.

He didn't let it bother him, for the most part. He _did_ prefer the stories where the lovers or friends endured despite the odds, or even better, thrived. Ones where they started a cultural revolution were especially beloved, just as always. The human shows had as little of that as Cybertronian media, and Shadowsinger accepted that. Very few found entertainment in the upsetting of their entire culture, after all. _He_ watched for the drama, for the flash, for the beauty he found even in this 'low' art of mass-consumed media. If it did nothing else, it amused him, and showed him more just how much their races had in common, and why his was willing to protect theirs.

Not, of course, that everyone was willing. Even on his side, and he couldn't blame them. They didn't have the time, or the desire, to learn the particularities of a new race, or they just didn't understand why one race was being judged as more important than their own, as they saw it. It wasn't that way, but it was so easy to get confused, and maybe the ultimate end would be just what they feared.

Maybe, Shadowsinger thought, looking at the human friends who had even 'infiltrated' his own ship, they and their children would be the only ones to remember the Cybertronian race. Maybe they would make a story... A grand drama, hopeless love across battlefields, and every other grand hallmark of this low media. Would they be computer-generated, Shadowsinger wondered, or played by men in suits... or would human technology have progressed to the point that true robots replaced and played the mechs as programmed? And what if those robots were the bridge to true AI...

Shadowsinger laughed at himself, aware that he was getting more than a little silly. He didn't think that his race was on the edge of extinction, especially since the fighting had more or less stopped. And it was a little creepy to consider robots running around pretending to be him, or his friends. Funny, but still... a bit uncomfortable. And a grand ways away from contemplating telenovelas or Korean drama.


	20. 54, Transform and Roll Out

54, Transform and Roll Out

He'd heard it, more than once, on the news feeds, or the video summaries of the attack. Their leader's catch-phrase...

Shadowsinger had never understood the need to have a catch-phrase. It seemed silly to him, like something in one of the holo-feeds he'd watched as a youngling. Not that he'd watched them very often, of course. If he had, the mech might have realized that Optimus was attempting to bring in nostalgia, and the same sense of invincibility that mechs had felt while watching the youngling shows.

There was a lot that could be done with such a sense, if it were channeled right. One only had to look at the Wreckers to see what feeling unbeatable could do, when the hype was believed, but only as long as it didn't lead to mavericks. They needed to be a team...

That was what Optimus was trying to do. It worked, when he was seen, when the Autobots fought with him, near him. It worked very well, they trusted him, even when he was a recent appointment, when he was new. That was an accomplishment, not to be disdained, not to be treated lightly. In the early groons of the war, that kind of confidence was what kept the Autobots together in the face of the Decepticon's stunning attacks, ferocious advances.

Later on, when the Autobots were more sure about what they were doing, Optimus still used the phrase. By now, he was expected to say it, and so he said it still, as much from habit as anything. It was their battle-charge, even mimicked by other commanders, by the secondary Primes. It united them almost as much as their religious chant, and unlike that, the catch-phrase _differentiated_ them.

Autobot and Decepticon alike, after all, chanted out, “Till all are one.” Megatron had lead the chant in the council chambers, and heard it in the arena as he killed. Optimus used it as he lead worship, when they still had time. 

Optimus, however, had created a phrase the Autobots could identify with, could follow, one that set them apart from the Decepticons. Even when it was used against them, in mockery when Autobots were captured, it only inflamed them to resist, to escape if they could, or survive until they were rescued, or released.

Shadowsinger was still glad that Megatron had never tried to follow the Prime's example. He didn't want to know what the Decepticon version might be. Probably, he thought with the devotion of one mate about another, it would be a better phrase, not so silly sounding. There was still the fact that he didn't want to hear any catch-phrase from Megatron.

And as for Zeximus, well... She was direct. She said what she meant. Her orders were clear, simple. In fact, he had asked her once, just out of morbid curiosity, if she ever had any plans to follow the Autobot leadership.

She had looked at him, smiling a little, and answered in that utterly dry manner of hers, “Shadowsinger. I would have to be very drunk indeed before ever seriously saying, 'Transform and Roll Out'.”


	21. 55, Creation Orn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one touches on religion, which I know can be touchy.

55 Creation Day

He had been to many Creation Orn celebrations, of course. Shadowsinger remembered quite a lot of celebrations, one every vorn, and a huge celebration every thirtieth vorn- forty-eighth by human count, but this was not their time.

'Celebration' was not quite the right word to use in relation to the earliest Creation Orns in his memory. He hadn't had to do much, on those orns, just like he never had to do much. Just stay out of the way, stay quiet. He could do that, and he would watch from the shadows, from vents and servant's corridors, and sometimes, rarely, from behind Ravage or Soundwave's own bodies.

Those had been solemn affairs, treated with all the high ceremony Ratbat believed a holy day deserved. The whole spire was cold, and brightly lit, and Shadowsinger had hid under blanket for warmth. Mechs had come quietly, speaking softly, or preforming formal dances in the grand, cold halls. Music had been high, tinkly, crystalline, and Shadowsinger had not enjoyed those orns, and had been pleased that he could remain out of the way, stay out of solemnity he didn't understand.

Even the portions which were celebrated in the bitterly cold and dazzlingly bright chapel within the spire had not been hidden from him, though those had required much hiding in vents, and a whole nest of heating blankets as the temperature system had blasted freezing air down them. Ravage and Laserbeak had both lain beside him, and it had still been cold, and not at all worth it the youngling's opinion. A priest had spoken, mechs had offered blocks of ice, and Shadowsinger was fairly sure his systems had sent him into recharge as they complained of cold.

It had been very, very different in Iacon. That had been solemn, but more lively. In the orns leading up to the Creation Orn, there were quite a lot of things sold which looked frozen, or carved from crystals, intended to be given as sacrifice. But the weather was not cold, and most shops didn't change their settings, and while things were often brighter than Shadowsinger liked, the whole atmosphere was at least tolerable.

Mechs would steal into the temples, to pray or offer sacrifice, but the always seemed to be enjoying themselves, truly and honestly, and Shadowsinger had been, for the first time, moved to offer sacrifice to his god on his holy day. Only when the young mech went into the temple did he realized what the mechs were doing in the temple. Primus was the god of life, and there was no surer celebration of life than the sharing of pleasure and the affirmation of love.

Shadowsinger felt very odd entering the temple alone once he understood this, but the priests made no comment, even when they had to show him the rituals of offering. His trinket was not very impressive, but he did feel better once he gave it.

On the Hyrde, they didn't do much. It was war, and there was not much they could do. He was almost surprised to find out that the Unicron cult celebrated the orn as well. With the older femmes' instructions, Shadowsinger understood the old rites better. Interfacing was more than pleasure, he learned, but with the war, spark merging was one thing they didn't risk on Creation Orns. Still, there were true celebrations now, with even the enemy fighting less hard on those orns.

He heard the old legends, and then told them to others whenever he had the chance. Zeximus was right, the old stories had been neglected far too long. And when the war ended, he was free to pass them on, and even encouraged to make his own traditions, for both gods.


	22. 56, Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decided not to take the easy route. And writing in a romance-novel style is hard!

56\. Bond

“Okay. I think we'll finish it today. I'll have to find something new to read you, then, won't I? But it won't be as good as this one, I'm sorry...” Shadowsinger just loved this story, and he was sure his audience did too. They were here every orn, after all, waiting for him, and so they had to like it!

“Where was I? Oh yeah, Hotspark had just run off to find- what's that?” The youngling looked up, then flashed a smile. “Oh, thank you. Yes, you're right, he had just found Romulous. And... right!” Scrolling through the data-pad, Shadowsinger found his spot again, and started reading.

“'Oh, my dear Hotspark. You've given up everything for me, haven't you?' Romulous asked, wrapping his arms around his young love and kissing his face.

“Returning the kisses with a smile, Hotspark soothed Romulous. 'I don't even notice the loss, my dearest Romulous. With you I have love, and that's more than any luxury I could have bought before. Being with you, my love, would make living in a cave paradise!'

“'Then I must give you a taste of that paradise...' Romulous murmured, stroking Hotspark. -Okay, now they're going to interface.” Shadowsinger stopped the story for a moment, looking up to gauge his audience's reaction. “It's not always the most interesting of stuff, I know, but I'm going to read this to you anyway. I have a reason for it, don't worry!” He smiled sweetly, earnestly, and waited for permission.

“Alright. So... stroking Hotspark... yeah. 'Oh, I'm already so hot... Can you feel it, Romulous? How charged the thought of you makes me?'

“'Yes, dear Hotspark. I do...' Romulous kissed Hotspark, glossa slipping into his mouth- I really don't know why they do that... anyway.

“Romulous held the shaking form to him, hands slipping under Hotspark's armor, and Hotspark clung to him, his tires and glass. The larger mech was so much stronger than Hotspark, and he loved it, caught in his lover's arms while coaxing out moans. Heat shimmered around their forms, and their optics blazed as love become manifest in passion.

“'I have something to tell you, Hotspark...' Romulous said, opening his chestplates. 'I am secretly a Prime, and I want to bond you. Will you?'

“'Oh, yes... Yes, Romulous,' Hotlpark answered, showing his spark as well, as hot as his name. Coming together, they merged and became one forever... See, that's what I wanted to show you.” Shadowsinger put aside the book-file and brought one hand to his chest. “It's so romantic, isn't it? I think merging isn't that common now, this is kind of an old story, and I've almost never heard of bonding...”

He looked up suddenly, pulled from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps. “Oh! I'm sorry, I have to go!” Collecting the file, Shadowsinger ran out of the room, leaving behind his silent audience. His creator had so many beautiful dolls, but the youngling wasn't allowed to touch them, and so he read to them instead. As he slipped away from the forbidden room, Shadowsinger thought about the story he had read. He wondered if he would ever fall in love... If he did, he really, really hoped they would be willing to bond him.


	23. 60, Bet

60 Bet

Watching the little mech writhe and arch under him, Vortex had to admit he was rather surprised. He had sliced the mech, crushed limbs... Shadowsinger had just shrieked and begged for more. It was just like his brother had said...

“He'll take anything ya like, 'Tex. He'll give you anything. Anything at all...” Swindle had said, waving about a datachip. Vortex had not been impressed by his quick-sliver glossa'ed brother.

“You talked about this mech all during the war, sold his stuff... Why should I believe you any more now than I did then? Sure, you have vids of him doing all these slagging crazy things, but he knows them, trusts them- I've told you before, no tiny mech like that even has a chance of satisfying me. Why do you keep trying to sell him to me anyway?” the rotary had asked, drinking from a violet cube.

“You're my brother! I want you to be happy! Anyway, do you know how much the tape would go for? Even if the war is over, mech's gotta make a profit!”

They had argued then, Vortex remembered. He had been getting somewhat overcharged the whole time, which was par for the course...

“Vortex... Vortex, please...” Shadowsinger mewled, arching under the distracted mech's hands. Despite the pleasure he had found though the whole encounter, Vortex had not allowed the pale mech to overload even once, and now the former Autobot was frantic, desperate.

Vortex looked down, smiling at the needy image the pleasure'bot presented. So far, Shadowsinger truly had proven to be everything Swindle had promised. He had been quite drunk when he accepted Swindle's bet, of course, and had barely remembered the following orn. Swindle had bought Shadowsinger's services for a night, but since he was losing the bet so far, Vortex knew he'd have to pay his brother back. He would never have taken this bet if he had been sober...

“I want your spark, little mech. Open up... Please me and I do plan to let you overload. You need it so much, but you have to work!” Demands came easily, and Vortex rubbed at the thin, small chest, waiting for the answer. Now and then his hands would stray, tugging on crushed or rent armor, or pinching off a leak. He couldn't let the mech offline, and he didn't want to either.

There wasn't so much as a klick of hesitation before the small mech yielded, narrow chest parting to expose his spark. With a mech of Vortex's size and strength, the action didn't really make Shadowsinger any more vulnerable than he already was, but the fact that it was voluntary was powerfully erotic, and the fact that he was submitting to Vortex's orders pleased the rotary.

The dark mech bent down, rotors fanning out, to cover Shadowsinger with his own bulk. Vortex remained tightly closed, bringing his claws to bear on the exposed spark. Despite temptation, the rotary made no effort to hurt Shadowsinger further. He was sure the mech could take it, and might even overload from it, but it was a little dangerous. He wouldn't do it.

And, no matter how well this one had worked out, Vortex thought as Shadowsinger screeched out his overload, he was not going to take any more bets with Swindle!


	24. 69, Function/job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Ratbat being a bastard about a sparkling. But you probably know how he is by now.

He did not know yet just what Soundwave thought the little thing could be used for. It couldn't even function as his key any longer. The blue mech seemed to think that it would be good for his image, but that seemed little enough reason to keep such a helpless sparkling alive. Of course, the advisor did have those things of his own, so that probably colored his priorities at least a little.

Oh, Ratbat could admit that there had been far too many people around when the thing was sparked. Far too many, and so the senator did owe his advisor for that. But now, when they were alone, it would be so easy. Just a little accident, they happened all the time, and just because he was rich, was a senator, didn't mean that his family was exempt from tragedy.

But then, it wasn't like he couldn't afford the sparkling. It was only one more mech to feed. And maybe Soundwave was right. Maybe, when it was older, it could be used. A spy, maybe, a gatherer of information, willing to do whatever he asked of it to earn some praise. It worked for his employees, for the ones who knew that the most vital jobs were the ones that couldn't be admitted to.

But until then... Ratbat huffed a little. Until there it would be eons of care for the little creature, food, housing. Someone would have to watch it, be diverted to feed it, teach it. It couldn't be Soundwave, he was too valuable to divert to such a task, and his caretaker had long ago left. Reached the end of his usefulness. He wouldn't let his creation near the caretaker anyway, it would mess up what plans he was working on.

Many, many eons later, when the sparkling was adult and Ratbat was gone, when a war had come and passed, he found a function.

It was not the fighting, the cutting and slaughter to which the leaders had tried to accustom him, him and all soldiers. Shadowsinger had never liked that, had learned precision to avoid killing even before promising Megatron he wouldn't kill his troops.

It was not the function that Ratbat had considered for Shadowsinger, though the mech didn't know that. Didn't know that his stint as Chief of the Hyrde's security was the closest he had ever come to fulfilling his Creator's wishes. He had enjoyed that job, but it had never felt natural to him, the second-guessing, the paranoia so many of his fellows seemed to have. Shadowsinger had not welcomed it, though he had accomplished his purpose there, keeping the ship safe.

Now, though, he had indeed found a function, one he enjoyed, almost as though he were made for it. He worked with, and for, 'primitive' Dinobots, as a pleasure-bot. Mechs had never thought badly of the job, but it was never one that a Towers creation ought to take, having more 'important' things to do. Selling his wares to the Dinobots would have been seen as more scandalous than what his wares were, if anyone cared any more.

Shadowsinger loved every part of it, the pleasure he got, the pleasure he gave to others, the contact he had with them, what he learned from them. Sometimes he wondered if this was what it was like to have a programmed function, but at the end, he was happy that he'd had a choice. It had made things uncomfortable at times, with all around him seeming content in their jobs, fitting in their function, but now that war was done, Shadowsinger could see he was adapting, like the others he knew had chosen, better than those who's function had been programmed into them.


	25. 71, Offline

It was annoying! Beyond annoying. Only Dinobots could have come up with such a thing, Shadowsinger was sure. They didn't mean to be loud and annoying and so very 'there', at least not most of the time, and most of the time it didn't bother him, but if he heard that bitlet song one more time, the pale mech was not at all sure what he would do.

'It' was just a toy, really. Meuse was playing with it, with one of Sneaker's littles. A little ball, that played a bright and happy tune when it was hit, flashed as it rolled and bounced away. The bitlets were chasing it, having great fun, and it really was adorable. And annoying.

None of the Dinobots minded the noise, of course. The families were getting along great, a regular pack meeting, energon was flowing, music and talking and laughing. Shadowsinger expected that a mini orgy would break out soon, but that wasn't worrying. They would take turns keeping the bitlets out of the way, and it wasn't like they hadn't seen it already.

If that noise didn't stop, though, Shadowsinger was sure that he would end up missing the orgy. How could he stand missing such a thing? He was a pleasure bot, and he liked everyone here, and... if that music didn't just end, he was going to scream. Or do something worse. What worse, he couldn't be sure, but he'd find something. It wouldn't be that hard to find something worse than screaming.

Eyrie noticed how Shadowsinger was squirming, and glaring at the toy, and wrapped his arm around the smaller mech. It was comforting, and nice, and Shadowsinger was sure more could come out of it, but that stupid song...! He tried to snuggle, laying against the Dinobot, counted as his brother, but Shadowsinger couldn't really relax, couldn't enjoy.

After less than a breem, he had to squirm away from the comforting dinobot. In so far as he tried to hide his annoyance, Shadowsinger went to the other side of the gathering, grabbing some energon and staying as far away from the bitlets as possible.

It didn't last. As though they wanted to bother him, the bitlets came by, chasing the ball and nearly knocking him down. It was only a result of young, high spirits, but Shadowsinger just couldn't take it anymore. Screaming, he starting to run after the bitlets, and they shrieked with laughter, running from him happily. They also kept the ball away from him, quickly catching on to the fact that it was the toy that Shadowsinger was after.

Bitlets, however, couldn't keep even a toy away from an experienced warrior. It was just a matter of waiting until the cheery, bright, annoying toy was far enough away that Shadowsinger could risk shooting without any chance at all of hitting the bitlets, or any other Dinobot. He still had his cannon, for the momentos and sensations and no-one thought less of it on Dinobot Planet. It only took a moment, and then his targeting systems had it, and the toy was offline.

The blessed silence lasted only a moment or two. As soon as the assembled Dinobots figured out what had happened, they burst out laughing. Shadowsinger didn't care, turning to face them with almost a petulant look on his face before stomping over to Eyrie again. He didn't care. The music had ended, and the bitlets weren't too scared (they seemed to want him to do it again), and the others could just laugh all they wanted. It was worth it.


	26. 72, Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rule 42; nothing in life can ever be simple or uncomplicated.

This was not good at all, and Shadowsinger knew that. Apparently it was much too much to ask for, that he and Prime be allowed to enjoy a simple drive. Much, much too much. Rocks just had to fall, obscuring the road and, in a lovely case of Rule 42, pinning Zeximus under them. They were too large for Shadowsinger to move, and Zeximus Prime couldn't get the right leverage to shift them herself.

The one good thing was that Shadowsinger had managed to squirm against her and check out most of the injuries. Those that he could get to weren't leaking badly, and there were no growing pools of energon or coolant to worry him. Zeximus wasn't in danger, she was just trapped and there was no way to get her out without help. The only real way to deal with that was to call for help, which they did.

Help was slow to come, though. They had gone some distance from the ship, and now it was coming back to metaphorically chafe their plating. There was nothing for it but to wait, however, and the two settled in to do that, talking softly to one another. They didn't talk of anything important, but it was nice to just talk.

Life got even worse after a couple breams. Seekers fell from the sky, only two of them but that was quite enough to cause trouble. Shadowsinger wasn't even surprised that he recognized them, though he was a little startled to realize just who they were. Velocity and Mach... He was going to have fun, Shadowsinger thought. At least he would have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about when he let lose on them.

Shadowsinger didn't give them time to gloat. He didn't want to hear it, didn't want to hear anything that they said or thought. He patted Zeximus, promising to protect her, and she smiled at him. She trusted him, even though she also knew this, with these Seekers, would come to a fight. Any other Seekers, almost any others, would have been 'faced instead, sent home relatively happy. Not Velocity and Mach.

They were sneering and teasing, clearly not believing that a mech one third their size was any threat at all. Shadowsinger smiled, and proceeded to prove them wrong, throwing himself at them, climbing up and leaping from chassis to chassis, slicing and cutting and scampering away. Energon was flowing now, off the Seekers in rivulets.

The only mercy Shadowsinger gave was in letting them run. Loki would be slightly unhappy if he killed them without her there, and he wouldn't be able to bring back any pieces anyway, and, he felt, they still hadn't paid for what they had done to Rainstrip. So Shadowsinger let them run, injured and unable to fly without repairs, and he wondered if this would be the time they didn't get the repairs, the time they were left to live on the ground.

Still covered in gore, Shadowsinger went to sit by Zeximus again. There was nothing to clean up with, or he would have. Zeximus didn't seem to mind, trying to wrap an arm around him and not entirely succeeding. They sat for a while longer, the Seekers vanishing over the horizon, and then yet longer. Nearly twelve breams passed before Lifeflight came in for a landing, before Loki and Heavylift stomped towards them on the ground to lift the rocks.

Shadowsinger stayed out of the way, his part done. He couldn't free Zeximus from the rocks, couldn't shift them or do anything more than interfere by trying to help, and so he just stood and watched, cleaning himself when supplies were dumped in his hands. He had done his part. He had protected Zeximus.


	27. 75, Frustration

Shadowsinger knew he shouldn't be laughing at this. His sister was really not that comfortable, doing her best to hold still as curious and far too invasive claws tugged and pulled and pet internals that really, they had no right to touch. That didn't stop him from laughing, long and hard, earning a glare from his dear sister.

"Aye, it's 'funny,' so funny. Now get 'em outa me! Now!" She was twitching, though only her tail could really move, striking the ground.

Still giggling, Shadowsinger nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I'll get them, Sis...” He patted her, then slid into her armor-seam, moaning softly as he was surrounded by warmth. It was so familiar, and would be so easy to do something other than what he was brought here for.

Of course, that something was just what he was here to stop, for once. Parsley and Thyme were so much smaller than he was, and could fit under Loki's armor just like he could, get into so many places. Unfortunately, they didn't know what they could or could not touch, and inside like this, they didn't need their strength to hurt Loki.

“Parsley... Thyme...! Come on, bitlets, where are you...?” Navigating through Loki's familiar internals, Shadowsinger squirmed and wiggled and really tried to add to her discomfort as little as possible. He wasn't sure how well he was doing, with how warm she was getting. This might get very embarrassing for her...

There was a click and giggle, and Shadowsinger caught sight of a green and purple head. “Tryin' ta get back t'the spark that carried ya, Par'? C'mon, give 'er some rest, bitlet...” Shadowsinger reached for the compthagnathus, but Parsley ducked away, chirruping. Another giggle came, from Thyme, and Shadowsinger tried to go after it.

The purple and ivory bitlet was just as uncooperative as its sibling, and the chase continued for several more breams. Loki was definitely getting warm now, and Shadowsinger knew that even if he got the bitlets out, he was going to have to overload her when he was done. She was cursing, too, threatening death and mayhem if they didn't get out of her right this click, but Shadowsinger knew well enough that he didn't have to worry about those.

“I'm tryin', Sis, I'm tryin'...” Shadowsinger muttered, but he could feel that it was too late. He could feel it and hear it and soon enough the overload came. He was prepared for the effects, though the small mech still moaned as the energy swept through him. The bitlets were completely unprepared, couldn't know what to expect. There were two very surprised squawks, and then Thyme fell out of some wires practically on top of Shadowsinger.

On his way out, Shadowsinger found Parsley, dazed and cooing softly, and he huffed. “'Fraid they're gonna try doin' this 'gain, Sis...” he said as he slipped out, bitlets in hand.

Despite having just overloaded, Loki looked anything but happy or sated. "I swear, gonna fraggin' slag th' slagger that musta showed 'em that!" she growled out.

Yup, Shadowsinger decided. Right now, his sister was very much frustrated. Given that their creations would do this again, it was probably quite sensible to feel frustration.


	28. 81, Comm Link

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad phone-sex...

After they had met a few times, after he knew he could trust them, and after he knew he wouldn't get in trouble for it, Shadowsinger had given them his private frequency. They provided the encryption codes, and in general everything worked out.

Shadowsinger was bathing when the call came, with a tone he reserved for his spy-friends, as though the channel itself wasn't enough of an indicator. -Hello, Reflector. How are you?-

-We are well. We enjoyed your last images, especially with that Seeker...- Reflector answered, all of them on the line. Shadowsinger loved hearing them, and he was pretty sure that the static he heard was not just from the distance. Not when it was heavier in one voice than the others...

Grinning, Shadowsinger started to fondle his seams. He knew that his lovers were visual, but they had stuff to look at... why not play at something he knew they didn't do much? He let his growing arousal color his voice, -Rainy? Yeah... I was so glad when he agreed. I knew you'd, mm... love it.-

-Shadow? What are you doing?- one Reflector-voice asked. Spectro, Shadowsinger thought, because that seemed to be his role in the gestalt. He sounded playful, and the ivory mech could easily imagine the interested light his optics.

-Me? Oh, I'm in the shower.- He gave them a moment to process the image, then added, -with my digits in my seams. I'm all wet, but the soap is trailing off. And the water's so warm...-

A tri-part moan answered that. -We would like to see that. Would you wash us, if we were there? Rubbing us, hands all over... Would you give us a show, with just you and our lens component?-

-Ooh, yes. You know I would. And it would make the best pictures...- Shadowsinger agreed. He should see if such a shower was possible the next time they met. -Mm... do you want me to open? Let the water pour over my spark-chamber, over the mark...? It'll feel so good, and you'll hear it, do you want me to do that, Reflector?-

There was a choked whimper which could only come from Viewfinder, and Shadowsinger fondly remembered how wild the mech could get, especially with his lens rubbed. -Do it, Shadow! We want to hear, to hold us until we can see!- the other two said, begging and ordering at once in two voices.

Shadowsinger obeyed, unlatching his chest and giving a cry as the hot water flowed over a spark heated enough to make the liquid seem cold. -Unmaker, yes, ooh... Oh...!- He was not really surprised when he overloaded, even though he hadn't been at this for very long.

Only moments later, he heard the fractured cry that showed his spy-friends had followed him. Shadowsinger smiled, still a little limp from the overload, water pouring over his internals and helping to cool him. -You sound so good...-

-As do you,- Reflector said. -Ah, you're always nice to talk to. And here we only meant to say it would be a while until we could come again. ...We may have to work harder to meet sooner.-

-I would like that. Until then, Flexy.- Still purring, Shadowsinger closed the comm line and finished bathing.


	29. 87, Stasis Cuffs

Shadowsinger wanted, he desperately wanted, to writhe, to shift, to control in some manner the way he was being touched. He couldn't even move, only shriek and beg. Havok was taking his time, slow and careful, picking out every wire and circuit and patch of solder on his lover's frame.

He couldn't blame his lover, and Shadowsinger would gladly do the same thing to his wicked Noctus, but Havok had got the stasis cuffs first, and so he had more than earned the honor of using them. And, Shadowsinger thought sourly as he whimpered and tried to arch up, he was probably never going to get a turn. They would have to give them back, or Havok would be sent away again, or Shadowsinger would be... it was becoming desperately common.

Havok noticed his Solaris was thinking, and frowned just a little. “Ach, am Ah not being fair? Are ya not 'aving fun, Shadow?” Claws scratched against a tube, almost enough to pierce it but not crossing that line, and then he smirked and rubbed against a data-wire.

Once again, Shadowsinger shrieked, and he would have arched but he couldn't... “Noctus! Please, please...” It had only been breems, but it felt like joors already... Shadowsinger knew that Havok could make this really take joors, kind of hoped that he would. Havok had been busy for the last few orns, and Shadowsinger himself had been sent away from the base for orns before that. It had been far too long since Shadowsinger had felt this touch, far too long since he had merged.

He didn't want Havok to make this any faster than he was, though, because the touch was so good. It made him burn almost as much as his mate's touch had... (more, a small corner of his processor suggested, and Megatron had never used stasis cuffs, had never played like this...)

Havok only laughed, that lovely dark laugh of his, and began slowly opening his Light Brother's chest. He knew what Shadowsinger needed, but also knew to take his time, to go slow and make the ivory mech earn ever touch, ever pleasure. Shadowsinger needed this as much as he needed the merge. It was a pity, the pale mech had just been learning so nicely to take control, to rev him up so beautifully... but now Solaris just needed the domination, and they had too little time to play, to teach and learn...

It was harder, this time, to tread the line between what the pale mech wanted and what he needed. He had only Shadowsinger's voice to go by, the cuffs holding his lover utterly still, stiff as steel and frozen is the position he had taken before Havok had slipped the cuffs on. He was beautiful, really... And his voice was growing high, thin, needy. Time to end this...

“Hush, hush, m'beauty...” Havok soothed. Shadowsinger watched helplessly, keening weakly as his Dark Brother sat up just a little, opened. He did wish he could touch that glowing orb, but soon it didn't matter. Shadowsinger's keen turned to another shriek, thin and weak, and then there was only moaning, pleasure.

Looking at his lover in the aftermath, Havok had to smile. The stasis cuffs had been hard to find, but they had been so very worth it. Pity that Shadowsinger would never get the chance to return the favor... He hadn't yet told the pale mech that he was leaving again in the morning. Still... oh, yes, it was so very worth it to have stolen those cuffs.


	30. 89, Cybertron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadowsinger gets rather reflective.

He had never seen it like this, and he had never planned on seeing it like this. Standing on the bridge of his new home, Shadowsinger had a lot to think over, but he wasn't bothering with any of that right now. He didn't want to think about things, and with the view of Cybertron growing smaller out the window, Shadowsinger didn't have to think about anything else. The sight of his planet against the stars and vastness of space was quite an efficient distraction, after all.

It didn't look all that bad, he thought. Shadowsinger knew quiet well how destroyed the surface was, how short on energon, and life... But here, pulling away from it, none of that was really visible. The planet was sparkling from reflected starlight, glowing from the remaining cities and various bases, and looked... beautiful.

How had it looked before this, Shadowsinger wondered. Before the war, when it was strong, when energon flowed and creatures lived... He would have to ask. The Prime would know, but he was still a little... wary around her. The dinobots would know too, but he had only met the second in command, and wasn't sure how safe he felt around her, either. Not because of her build, but her rank. He didn't have a good history with Autobot officers.

Maybe one of the other dinobots would know, then, and be willing to tell him. Shadowsinger would like to know... Maybe they'd even have pictures, recordings. This had been an exploration vessel, so it wouldn't be too hopeless to wish that they had some records of Cybertron back when it lived. He would really like to see it...

But for right now, it was enough to see this shadow of Cybertron, the ghost of prosperity it still held. It almost looked fine...

The ship turned, taking a new heading, and Shadowsinger could see what the war had truly done to his home. There was a hole, still glowing faintly from energon and lit from mechs living, or the still-hot metal caused by whatever had caused this wound. Shadowsinger shivered, in horror that mechs had caused this damage and in sympathy for his hurt planet. He understood the anger which had lead to this, but everything was all out of control now...

And then they were further away, and Shadowsinger could make out the planet, but he was beginning to lose it against the stars. He shivered again, realizing how small his home was, and how... the word felt strange, but there was no other word for it, insignificant. They thought themselves so terribly important... but they weren't even the only living creatures, or even, if he had understood correctly, the only sapient creatures in the universe. He couldn't... quite get his mind around that, around how small everything he knew looked to be now.

How long would it be before he saw Cybertron again, the young mech wondered. What condition would it be in? They would return, surely... but it had been almost five million vorns between this ship's first voyage and their first return. Would he have to wait that long to see his home again? Shadowsinger didn't know, couldn't know, and wouldn't ask.

He had things to think over, after all. Feeling slightly disconnected from everything, Shadowsinger turned away and prepared to leave the bridge. When he glanced out the window a final time, he could no longer see Cybertron.


	31. 90, Base

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank musing on interfacing. If that bothers, I'm not sure why you're this far in.

When you came right down to it, there were only two ways Shadowsinger really knew for interacting with people. He could treat them as lovers, potential, future, current, or past; or he could treat them as his Creators, mentors, caretakers.

For the first five eons of his life, Shadowsinger had known only authority figures. His rarely-seen Creator, his more visible but little more active mentor, and the army of servants who kept him from killing himself, showed him how to read, do basic care. His mentor had, in his way, taught him history, suggested files for the youngling. With these mechs, Shadowsinger did as he was told, gave utter truth, and longed for attention, approval. He also sought out ways to gain power, to do what he wanted instead of letting them force him into doing what they wanted him to do.

When he was thirty thousand four hundred and eighty-some vorns old, Shadowsinger had met the mechs who taught him his other form of basic interaction. For the first time, he was wanted, taken into their home with no expectations, held, touched and spoken to tenderly. They had cleaned him, comforted him, listened to him, and then shown him pleasure like he had never known.

It had been another eon before he was able to exercise that second method again. The recruiters and instructors were 'caretakers', but his fellow recruits were, maybe, lovers. Friends, but he had never had friends. When Ground Hog had declared them friends, they were in the berth together a joor later, and Shadowsinger's standards were set.

If there was no likelihood that they would become lovers, Shadowsinger treated mechs awkwardly, distantly. If he had to interact with a mech for longer than a few joors, he began to see them as, perhaps, a lover. Even a single breem-long interface was a breem that he was wanted, and he had never failed to gain their approval, as well, at least for that breem's work.

And then he had met his mate. Shadowsinger had always expected that meeting Megatron would send him right to treating the mech as an authority figure... which he had, but then Megatron had changed the rules, become his Lord and lover. From then on, all but a very few mechs were in the 'lover' category. It didn't matter what side the mech was on, what he looked like, even what he wanted was negotiable. Shadowsinger would give everyone a chance.

Shadowsinger knew, as a base for interacting, that it wasn't the best around. It wasn't the most healthy, probably, though he was hard-pressed to see how it had hurt him, especially after he opened up to allowing spark contact more. It gave him an understanding of the base sameness between Cybertronians, their 'kinship'. All were one...

Again coming to the bottom of it, even Shadowsinger's lovers were treated similar to his caretakers. He was still desperate for affection, approval, and was willing to go to absolutely insane lengths to get it. He was stronger than ever before, still did what they wanted him to do, but he allowed it, and that made all the difference.

It was not wrong to say Shadowsinger was all about interfacing. It was more right to say he was all about affection, but lacked the base information to show it in any less intimate way. He was even willing to change. All he needed was a different base.


	32. 91, Hologram

There was really not much similar between holograms and holoforms, save that they both were used to create illusions that were not real. A hologram was light, and perhaps a sheet of glass to refract against. Nothing more, nothing real, or at least nothing three dimensional, nothing that could be interacted with, not really. They couldn't touch, they couldn't move more than on the flat plane of glass

Holoforms, though... through the use of holograms, and subspace, and extra mass, and a whole bunch of other things that only the very top scientists had ever understood, were none of that. They needed no glass for refraction; they made their own surface. They were 'there', in nearly every way that mattered, could move things, pick things up, interact, and feel.

The feeling was the real use of holoforms. With the right algorithms fed in, they could collect sensory data, which was then relayed to a mech's processor and interpreted as feelings. Feelings that a mech couldn't feel else, the touch of skin against skin, hair, feathers, scales. Scents and tastes as organics knew them, and other biological functions as well. Crying for one, impossible for mechs and common among organics.

Sex, too, of course. That was seen as a little odd, but ultimately expected. Organic sex was so very different from interfacing, wet and messy and dirty, with bits going in, but only in certain places. It was pleasant, usually, and a fun change of pace, but always felt vaguely wrong. Unexpected, actually, not so much wrong. Wrong indicated guilt, and there was none of that.

Holoforms were of great use when interacting with organic species. They could be used to mimic, interact... That was the original point of them. It had kind of tumbled apart when they reached Earth, though... They didn't try so hard to hide, by then, talking directly to those who needed to know about such things, and later those who already did.

Of course, once humans found out that holoforms and holograms were different things, they wanted to know more. They would watch entranced as a mech played with a holoform, changing appearance, mimicking others, making a unique look, changing scent and texture. The scientists wanted to study, wanted to try creating their own generators, but that wasn't allowed. Not that humans weren't allowed to learn such things, but the only holoform generators available were in living mechs, and it was pretty clear why humans weren't allowed to experiment then, no matter what Sector Seven said.

So, holograms and holoforms had very little in common. Very little in use, and yet holoforms could not exist without the simple projection of light and color that was a hologram. Mechs tended to forget the difference, calling even holograms, like Hound made, 'holoforms', while humans went the other way and called everything 'holograms'. Different things, quite often confused with each other... Really, when you got right down to it, the humans seemed to be right when they said a holoform sounded like something out of a sci-fi movie, as if 'giant robots' didn't already do that. Giant robots, subspace, holoforms...

Maybe the humans were right. Maybe they were just one big real-life science fiction move. Played out, maybe, for the amusement of whatever gods there were. Would it really be that impossible?


	33. 93, Giggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had actually forgotten this one. O.o Slightly shorter than 'usual' (by maybe 30 words).

Looking up at the mech in his brig, Shadowsinger giggled, his whole manner as innocent as he could make it. He hadn't been sure he'd believed it when Loki had told him who was caught this time, but now that he saw... Shadowsinger giggled again, genuinely happy to see Barricade. It had been a long time, and he did like the Decepticon enforcer.

Barricade was just watching the giggling Autobot with a look of patient confusion. “It's not that funny, is it? It's not like I've never been caught before.” He wasn't made to sneak around. That was his companion's job. He was a fighter, and a very good distraction.

“Aww, 'Cade, don't be like that. We haven't seen each other for so long... How about I come in and make things up to you?” Shadowsinger answered, giggles fading but mirth still showing on his face. “I'm just happy to see you...” He walked closer, then glanced up at the couple vents in the brig and giggled again.

“I know Frenzy's with you. As long as there's no damage caused or information stolen by him or you, we're inclined to overlook it. So can I come in?” He'd asked before hand, because sometimes they did need to let Vindex as the prisoners. This was not one of those times, though, and Shadowsinger was very glad of that.

“You know, I'd heard you were insane here. But then, I guess you never were the most... let's say, normal. If you want to come in, it's not like I can stop you... I don't suppose you've seen Havok lately, have you?” Barricade answered, sitting on the little berth provided. There was no reason to remain standing, not when it was only Shadowsinger. He didn't need the extra hight with him, not like that dinobot or the other femmes on the ship.

Shadowsinger pinged the ship to lower the bars, and then pinged again to re-engage them, shaking his head. “No... They kept us apart as much as they could after we got back. I was kind of hoping you had...” He shrugged, delicately, climbing into Barricade's lap without waiting for an invitation. “Enough about that, though. Now that I'm here...”

“Oh, I know what happens now. You little mechs, all the same...” It was Barricade's turn to make a low sound that might have been a giggle, one wicked hand coming up to wrap around Shadowsinger's struts and toy with the ivory back. “Well then, you're the officer here. Let's see about keeping you... happy, shall we? I think I remember how to do this...” Remembered very well, and hadn't that been fun. Fun and entirely worth it at the time.

“Mmm... I think you do too. I hope I'm good enough alone...” Shadowsinger said, smiling and squirming happily, his own digits going for the hydraulics in Barricade's arms. It was rare enough that he got more than one chance with his Decepticon lovers, and he planned to take full advantage of this opportunity. Even better that Barricade was already of the same opinion, it let them get to the good parts so much faster.

In between the moans and low cries, the brig rang with quite a lot of giggles.


	34. 94, Voice

He had often been told he had a nice voice. Not ever in so many words, of course, but when every one of his lovers, except some of the Autobots, had asked or ordered or begged him to scream, to moan, to shriek, to sing, it was easy to get the message.

Shadowsinger never seemed to mind the need to be vocal. He liked it, really, said he enjoyed that he had yet another way to please his lovers. He wasn't always sure why they liked it, though... He knew he liked their voices, but his own was nothing special. It wasn't lovely deep like Thundercracker's, or Megatron's, or Flashbang's. It was also, thank Primus or the Unmaker, not high and reedy like Starscream's. It was just... a voice. One than served him quite well enough, and managed his accents decently, but still nothing special, nothing memorable.

His lovers would argue with him, if they knew how he thought. It wasn't the voice, though, that was important. It was the use, the tool, the way his voice was used shamelessly to beg for dirty things, to shriek his unrestrained pleasure. It was the way that Shadowsinger was never, never shy about using his voice in any way he was asked to, ordered to.

At any moment, they could ask him what he was feeling, if he liked what they were doing or not. It was impossible not to like his voice when there was such truth in it. Even when he was obfuscating, avoiding saying things, there was truth in his voice. He didn't lie, he just didn't always say everything. He rarely had the processor to play those games in interface, though. In interface, he was totally open, and it showed.

Eyrie smiled as he thought this over, sitting up and look at Shadowsinger's recharging form. Tonight he had not come to his brother as a customer, but as a lover. They didn't do this often, usually feeling no need, their desire for pleasure filled with others, or by hiring. He had hired Shadowsinger more than once...

“Ya know,” he muttered to the recharging mech, stroking the lax faceplates lightly. “I, like... never got ta tell you, like... why I wanted to come here tonight...” It was amusing, really, but he had never told Shadowsinger that there was anything he wanted to tell him. He had wanted to hear the pale mech first, hear his voice... Hear his ever-changing accents, the unpredictable slide in syntax and grammar.

He wanted to check if his conclusions were correct.

They had been. As bizarre as it seemed, the mech's collections of accents was no longer unique. It wasn't entirely surprising, probably, that Eyrie's youngest bitlet was picking up the same fluid shifting. He spent time with Shadowsinger, though not as much time as the mech's own bitlets did. They probably hadn't picked it up because it wasn't strange to them, it wasn't anything that they hadn't heard.

It seemed right, though, that another mech grew to like Shadowsinger's voice, even though he had never heard it at it's best. Wouldn't for many vorns, if he ever chose to. It seemed sweet, touching, and never failed to make Eyrie smile. Or, occasional, charged from the memories the shifting evoked.

“Well, like- I guess I'll just, like, tell you in the morning...” Eyrie cuddled up to the slightly smaller mech, covering his form with a proto-wing because he knew Shadowsinger liked warmth. He could tell his brother about his bitlet mimicking his voice in the morning.


	35. 98, Big Bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An older bit of writing, but there we go.

98 Big Boom

Cannons were, Shadowsinger liked to think, something he knew a bit about. Not how to maintain them, not what parts were what, but still, he knew them. Knew them inside and out. Literally. He had been inside two, one integrated, one not, and crawled around the outside of at least one more. Megatron's, of course, and Flashbang's. Loki's, as little as she used it. And then he ran into an odd little problem. He didn't know anyone else with a cannon.

Shockwave didn't count, he had a gun-hand, but not big enough to be a cannon. Blow Out made beautiful explosions, but they were bombs, shaped charges, a lot of things that Shadowsinger had never heard about before. Not a cannon, though. Moonshine, and himself, used sonic cannons, and those just weren't the same, not the same at all.

Longshot... she made sniper guns, but she did maintain the Hyrde's own cannon. Now that was a cannon he hadn't been in, or on. It was kind of a pity, now that Shadowsinger thought about it. He'd been over most of the rest of the ship, but not the main gun. He wasn't even sure he'd seen it fired. That didn't really mean much, though, but it seemed to fit some how.

He'd seen each other cannon fired. Megatron's was pure energy, bright and clean and vaporizing whatever it was fired at. It had tasted of carbon inside, where the metal had seared and melted and burned away. As thick as the weapon had been, Shadowsinger knew it was being constantly maintained, cleaned, and built back up to stay thick.

Flashbang... that mech had so many memories. He'd shot shells, filled with different colors, and delighted in gifting them to mechs, by shooting. It had been great fun, and he'd happily let Shadowsinger control his angles, lay on the cannon and feel it shoot beneath him. He had complained some times about Shadowsinger's aim, but he hadn't really made an effort to stop the small enemy mech. Shadowsinger had loved it, he really had, but eventually that campaign ended, and they parted.

And his dear sister. She shot shells as well, though she much preferred to get close, to tear and rip and bite and rend. Her cannon was not a part of her, unlike the other two. He had been inside her cannon too, for the fun if it. She couldn't feel it like Megatron had, but she loved to see him slide in, loved for him to enjoy himself and knew how much he liked to be surrounded by metal. She had wanted to fire him, let him fly, but he had always said he would settle for letting Rainstrip take him up.

Shadowsinger sometimes harbored fantasies of getting the shells from Flashbang and Loki, and maybe even some of Blow Out's ammo, and Longshot's, and putting it all in a pile. Let Blow Out plan it, she'd know what she was doing. And then let Megatron shoot it, starting a chain reaction. It would be fantastic, beautiful. Cathartic, perhaps.

The best part, when Shadowsinger really dreamed, would be when it was everyone's ammo. Everyone's, on all sides. If he could take all the ammo, all the tools of war that would explode, and get rid of them, he would do it in a sparkbeat. End the war, end the pointless death and pain and hurt, he would do it.

And it would all go up in one big boom.


	36. 100, Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every mech faces it some time. Mention of death, religion. In our 'verse, Unicron and Primus are not quite like normal. Less 'God and Devil' and more 'Light and Dark'. So, following Unicron doesn't mean someone's a bad Autobot, and conversely, Decepticons can easily worship Primus.

It had been inevitable, really. Shadowsinger had known this was coming since he had first seen the human, and he had known it would hurt since he had first taken Wei under his protection. Everybody leaves, he had always known that. Still, the mech was unprepared for what he felt as he looked at the empty body that had been his friend and lover.

Wei had aged while they were together, lustrous black hair greying, eyes dimming, and smooth skin growing wrinkled. Shadowsinger had known every sign, had seen them all. In others. In less than a vorn, it became too much for the organic body. Shadowsinger had known it was coming, had taken steps to keep his ward happy, and to deal with this aftermath.

He found, though, that he was not seeing just Wei when he looked at the frail, no-longer-breathing body. He saw Ratbat, the greyed Senator, the pictures he had finally seen groons after the deed was done. He saw his mate, whom again he had seen only in pictures, grey and discarded... He even thought of those he had seen on the battlefield, whether he had known them or not.

In the frail body of his ward, Shadowsinger saw every loss he had taken and never been able to mourn.

The mech gave a soft keen, carefully picking Wei up and cradling the cool form to his chassis. It was as utterly wrong and dead as the offlined mechs he had seen, felt, in battle. Shadowsinger didn't mind, though, because that wasn't why he was holding the form.

He carried the body out of his room and down the hall to Loki's room. It was late, and the halls were empty at his request for this short breem. Loki's room was also empty, his sister elsewhere for now. She had done him the favor of lighting the fire, and now the small altar he was borrowing was hot, and filled with something which might have been a wing at one point. It was the kind of thing she would do.

Wei had never spoken of how he wanted to be honored after death, and so Shadowsinger hoped the human wouldn't have minded this. He also hoped his god wouldn't mind, but it wasn't Wei he was offering. It was the elements of his body... and now, Shadowsinger found, he was also offering his own grief, his sense of loss.

Gently, he held the body over the hot metal, and then let go, managing to burn himself a little in the process. That was just fine, and a moment later Shadowsinger opened a line intentionally, adding his energon to the offering.

The smelt of burning flesh was not a pretty one, but the metal and energon covered most of it, and finally Shadowsinger dropped to his knees and was able to mourn. For Wei, and for all the other losses he had taken.

Unicron accepted them all, and in the ritual, Shadowsinger found his sense of loss first sharpened, and then muted and soothed, passed over and dealt with.

He stumbled out almost a joor later, when there was nothing left but base elements, and he gave a shaky smile to the waiting Dinobot. He wasn't good yet, but he was better, and he would be okay.


End file.
